Get the Jump on Ducks

A passerby might have thought I was fleeing from a bear the way I was sprinting across the bean field. But I was just hurrying home to raid my dad’s hunting closet for some 12-gauge steel ammo. I’d been kicking fencerows on our farm for rabbits on a bitter cold afternoon when I flushed a swarm of mallards from a small creek bordering the field. The ducks roared off the water, banked hard over the next bend, and then dropped straight back down. I might as well have stumbled on a pot of gold.

Duck season was open, and I had my stamps and a few hours of daylight left. But with my pockets stuffed with lead field loads, I had little choice but to make a run back home, restock with proper ammunition, and hope the ducks would still be there when I returned.

Maybe an hour later, I was crawling back toward the creek with a dozen 3-inch magnum duck loads in my coat pocket. I could hear the birds splashing and quacking in a pool just beyond the undercut bank. When I stood up to shoot, bedlam ensued as more than a dozen mallards flushed nearly at my feet. I can’t say the two greenheads that fell were the ones I was shooting at, but I couldn’t have been prouder to carry them home.

While I love calling and shooting ducks over decoys, that’s not always an option. I’m reminded of a trip to North Dakota several years ago when a buddy and I arrived at camp with maybe an hour of daylight to spare. We were anxious to get our feet wet, so we glassed a pothole within walking distance, and sure enough, six mallards were dabbling on the shallow end of the pond. We made a careful stalk through the tall grass and bagged two drakes as they rose above the cattails.

Down in Texas, where I spend much of the fall and winter deer hunting, I’m never caught without a shotgun in the truck because there are usually gadwalls, wigeon, or teal on just about every stock pond (known as a “tank” in Texas) that I pass. Most of those small impoundments are less than 40 yards wide with an earthen dam on one end. The game entails sneaking up to the dam, inch-worming to the top, and jump-shooting any ducks that flush. It’s great sport that has provided several duck dinners back at camp.

The best jump-shooting, though, happens on small creeks when it’s bitter cold. A gentle current can keep water open in subfreezing temperatures, and even the smallest streams can fill up with ducks when neighboring marshes are frozen. I favor a hybrid approach under those conditions. I like to scout out a good creek bend with a gravel bar and a deep, slow-moving pool, toss out a half dozen decoys, and hide myself in natural cover to intercept birds flying along the creek. But if circling birds drop around the next bend, which they often do, I’m not shy about abandoning my spread and making a sneak. The entirety of a flowing creek can be the X in situations like this, so do what you can to stay in the action.

Another effective way to jump-shoot ducks is by floating small rivers and streams in a car-top boat such as a canoe or kayak. You can go solo or with a hunting partner. The trick is to watch the water ahead for ripples created by ducks and then use terrain to conceal your approach as you drift within range. A few words of caution: don’t venture onto unfamiliar waters in cold weather, and be sure to wear a life jacket and keep a spare change of clothes and fire-starting equipment in a dry bag in case you take an unexpected spill.

Jump-shooting may not be the most sophisticated way to hunt ducks, but it works. When birds are stale or scarce, open water is limited, or daylight is waning, a handful of shotshells and a good creek bank to hide behind can be all you need to bring ducks home for the table.